


water spills down o’er

by aosc



Category: Moana (2016)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 18:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10519656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aosc/pseuds/aosc
Summary: “Faithmakes a God!” Moana argues hotly.Maui stills, slowly ceasing his movements. He turns to face her in her entirety. This miniscule organism, so unimportant in her context, who’s staring at him through her damp curls, color high on her cheeks, breath somewhat uneven.





	

* * *

 

Maui throws her overboard for the third time counting the latest day’s cycle. The moon’s reflection is dipping into the water far ahead of them, a sprinkle of stars peppering the relative stillness of their current course.

 

 

The ocean, not to disappoint, raises her minutely, and deposits her with a thick splat on the deck of their canoe. Their. He snorts quietly to himself. This waify little chieftain-daughter of a human doesn’t own any property. Not in the face of himself. You don’t own anything which may be taken from you at any moment’s notice.

 

 

”Maui!” She snaps. Snaps, not screams. Her resilience is solidifying with each passing hour. Now, he’s no longer able to get her worked up so bad she’s visibly shaking, stomping around on deck and clawing at her scalp in frustration. He’s not sure whether that should be impressive, or if it should be just plain annoying.

 

 

”Yes,” he mutters. He leans his chin in his palm, and looks at her. ”Y’know, even the sea’s bound to get tired of you loping in there all the time. One of these times, it’s not gonna help you up again.”

 

 

Moana glares. She swipes at her hair, to get it out of her eyes. ”I don’t need the sea to _help_ me up,” she hisses. She takes a few quick steps up towards him. Sitting down whilst she’s standing, they’re roughly of the same height. This somewhat takes the edge off of her, he thinks. ”I’m _fine_ all by my _self_.”

 

 

”Sure,” Maui says, ”You’re fine. You’re a fine voyaging specimen, too. Real good at navigating.”

 

 

She crosses her arms across her chest. ”I found you, didn’t I?”

 

 

There’s a glint now in her eyes that Maui thinks really doesn’t suit her. Not. At. All. He narrows his eyes. ”That wasn’t very hard,” he tentatively argues.

 

 

Moana raises an eyebrow. His reply – the first time he’s said that, which might be leading him down a rocky path he wasn’t intending for, now that he’s backpedaling slightly – seems as though it’s taken her by surprise. ”Nobody before me had found you,” she says, slow enunciations, as though she’s choosing her words carefully.

 

 

” – Because all before you valued their lives,” Maui says. ”That – life valuing, is not your forte, princess.”

 

 

”Not a princess,” says Moana instantly. ”And I do. Value my life, that is. Hence why I voyaged to find you, and bring you across the sea, to – ”

 

 

”Put the heart of Te Fiti back, save the world, bla bla,” Maui finishes. ”Heard your speech before, _princess_.”

 

 

” _Not_ a princess,” she snaps. ”Besides, you _will_ do this for me. For the world. You’ve promised.”

 

 

They’ve argued this – moot, thank you – point a thousand times over the span of two days’ cycles. From his rough estimations, it will take them another five cycles of a complete day and night before they arrive at the entrance to Lalotai.

 

 

“Well,” says Maui dismissively, “first, my hook.”

 

 

Moana procures a tie from her wrist, and ties back her hair in her neck. It slithers down her back, wet and obviously annoying her. She rolls her eyes, and puffs a loud breath. “First, your hook,” she says, dully reciting a line she seems to have learned by heart.

 

 

Maui smiles thinly at her. “One thing we can now seemingly agree on,” he says, pleasantly.

 

 

*

 

 

Though the sea has supposedly chosen her to do its bidding, there is nothing in it that says it’s there to _ease_ their journeying.

 

 

A violently squalling wave crashes over their starboard, enough so that the canoe creaks between seams and nails, and tips wayward down, down into the maw opening up beneath the suction of the water.

 

 

“Pull towards me!” Shouts Moana from her position, feet loped tightly around a jut of a beam, the oar determinedly clutched in her hands as she attempts to veer them away from the next tug of the ocean.

 

 

Maui grunts, and attempts to steer the tiller beneath the slippery hold he has on it, the torrential rain making it exceedingly difficult to make anything right and the way he wants it.

 

 

“Maui!” Comes Moana again, now partially drowned out by a crackle of forked lightning hitting the surface of the water far ahead of them.

 

 

“I’m working on it!” he snaps back, and shoves the lever violently away from himself in a fit of impatience (not his strongest personality trait, okay).

 

 

It snaps aside with a sudden, for the moment highly impractical, ease, and Maui has to reach out and grab ahold of Moana at his far side before she is cast astray by the abrupt change of course, a shout and a breath later. She is clinging to his signed oar with almost inhuman determination, though it doesn’t do them a lick of good. She’s shut her eyes tightly against the premonition of being dunked beneath the surface of the water.

 

 

He eyes her critically. Around them, a patch of the roiling sea has temporarily calmed, enough to be able to stand, hands free, without toppling over by the smallest of waves passing them by beneath. “Sightless would make you even less of an aid,” he says.

 

 

Moana’s eyes crack open by a sliver. Tracks of salt water and rain run in rivulets down her cheeks. She scowls. “Sightless, limbless, thoughtless; at least I’d want to be of assistance. Unlike you,” she argues.

 

 

She puts the oar down on the hull of the canoe, the knock on wood ringing out with an air of finality. As suddenly as the storm had come upon them, it’s now receding, fat, dark clouds thinning out across the sky. She looks up. “At least we made it out of the storm…”

 

 

“At least there’s that,” Maui says, allowing himself to consent. He makes for the tiller again, wiping some of the moisture off and placing his palm firmly on the beam. He maneuvers it gently until the canoe is, once more after measuring how much of a faulty navigational stroll they’d taken, at proper course.

 

 

“How much did we lose?” Moana asks. She is critically surveying the sheet. A few stitches have torn, Maui observes, but not enough to warrant panic.

 

 

“Enough,” is his reply, with dramatic finality.

 

 

Moana rolls her eyes. “Fine, don’t talk to me,” she says, and bows down to open the hatchet in the flooring, making for thread and a needling point.

 

 

*

 

 

“ – I’ve told you, no hook, no powers. Ergo, no getting my hook, no voyaging across the sea, no putting back the _heart_ ,” Maui punctuates his words by jabbing his finger towards her, “No hook, no _God_.”

 

 

“Your hook isn’t what makes you a God,” Moana says. Her arms are crossed over her chest. She is rolling the signed oar, passive aggressive, beneath the arch of her foot.

 

 

Maui cocks an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?” he says. “’Cause, the last time I checked, I couldn’t exactly do anything _god-like_ without it.”

 

 

Moana, whose path to a temper is a short one, grits her teeth. If Maui pushes her one teensy bit forward, she’s going to start yelling. “I can’t believe I’m discussing _this_ , with _you_.”

 

 

“You’re right,” Maui says, “How, again, do you believe you somehow know this better than me?” He indicates for himself with a sweep of a hand, “Me – Demigod,” he says. He proceeds to point at Moana. “You – human _child_. Now, who has authority on the subject?”

 

 

“Well, obviously not you!” Moana exclaims.

 

 

“No? Then tell me, oh wise one, do _you_?”

 

 

“ _Faith_ makes a God!” Moana argues hotly. “It doesn’t matter whether you can perform miracles unless you have people who believe in you!”

 

 

Maui stills, slowly ceasing his movements. He turns to face her in her entirety. This miniscule organism, so unimportant in her context, who’s staring at him through her damp curls, color high on her cheeks, breath somewhat uneven.

 

 

“So, you’re saying – ?” he says.

 

 

Moana glares. “That you should stop obsessing over your hook, and maybe stop lording over me like I’m less than nothing.”

 

 

Maui opens his mouth to retort – and shuts it again. He looks out over the sea. If he’s right – which he is – then they’ll arrive at Lalotai in less than half a day’s cycle.

 

 

 *

 

**Author's Note:**

> this movie went straight to the heart. moreso than this little tidbit of writing perhaps suggests, but their headstrong clashes at the beginning makes for great writing. more of a character writing-practice, if you will.


End file.
